A Black businessman confronts systemic racism and corruption in Los Angeles.

In the early 1980s, Galloway joined a group, comprised mostly of minority businessmen, in establishing a cable television franchise that sought to bring the nascent utility to racially diverse neighborhoods in South-Central Los Angeles. Their request to access poles and lines, however, was denied by the city. Though Galloway’s group would ultimately win their case in a landmark First Amendment decision in the U.S. Supreme Court, it was a hollow, and late, victory. In telling the story of how systemic racism remains entrenched even in “progressive” cities, the book also highlights what Galloway sees as uncomfortable truths about the U.S. political system and racial coalitions. He directs his most vocal ire against the city’s Democratic machine and Black political establishment, including civil rights groups like the Urban League and the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. Far too many Black leaders and organizations, he laments, were “willing to turn a blind eye” to corruption that benefited White business interests and denied Black entrepreneurs a stake in a multibillion-dollar industry during its formative decade. To make matters worse, cable television—run and operated almost exclusively by White-owned corporations—became one of the largest purveyors of “bizarre and aberrant” Black caricatures in popular shows like Cops and the Jerry Springer Show. These anti-Black images provided a cultural milieu in the 1990s that led to the creation of Bill Clinton’s crime bill, which further targeted Black communities. While convincing in its critique of Democrats, the author largely ignores Republican stakeholders who held significant interests in both cable utilities and media productions. Likewise, the book, while consistently interesting, too often drifts into screeds against the Democratic Party, with many of the same lines of argument repeated ad nauseum chapter by chapter, which distracts from, rather than complements, the book’s important story.

A flawed but valuable case study of how systemic racism transcends political parties in America.

Three people find themselves drawn to a historic house where secrets from their past lurk.

An unlikely trio of investors has purchased a dilapidated historic mansion with land on each side in Maryland, 39 Bayshore. Splitting the waterfront property into thirds, the owners each hope for resolution to past problems. Taking over the mansion are Carolyn Reynolds and her three “aunts,” friends of her mother who helped raise her and have now whisked her away from stressful Los Angeles. They want to give Carolyn time to heal after a failed business and the death of her mother, which she still believes involved foul play. Meanwhile, the lot to the right of the house has been taken by a construction company composed of reformed ex-cons, ready to prove they can still contribute to society, especially Shealds Jackson, a man covertly seeking the evidence to prove that his scheming, and unfortunately dead, stepbrother had set him up to take the fall in a smuggling operation. Finally, on the lot to the left, is Pastor Peter Allred, who has come to Bayshore to confront deep psychological scars left by his father, a cult leader who was taken down in a bloody FBI raid and media firestorm. Unfortunately for them all, Bayshore will not be an escape from these troubles, as someone hides in the shadows, trying to sabotage each group’s every move. With so much back story in the novel, it is no wonder that Grisanti (Paths of Promise, 2012, etc.) labels this the first of a series. Consequently the book never finds its own rhythm outside of clunky exposition. Carolyn and her “aunts” announce their shared histories to one another as if they had never met before, and Shealds’ extensive inner monologues feel rushed and unbelievable. Despite the sometimes-awkward prose, the stories are nevertheless engrossing and inventive, taking readers from homes for unwed mothers to dangerous cults before the real action has even begun and creating some characters with potential to truly shine in future installments.

An exposition-heavy mystery that holds its intriguing characters back but sets the stage for more enthralling sequels.

Cronyism and corruption stifle the cable TV industry in this hard-hitting memoir.

In the late ’70s, when the city of Los Angeles put up for bid the franchise to build a cable TV system for South-Central LA, the author and his brother partnered with an experienced cable company, lined up financing and assembled what they thought would be a winning proposal. Unfortunately, a good business plan turned out to be next to worthless in the tar pit of LA municipal politics. After a series of bullying meetings spiked with bribe offers, an aide to a powerful city councilman and an influence peddler connected to the mayor’s office demanded that they and their associates be given majority control of the prospective franchise. The Galloways, two local African-American businessmen, refused—and found themselves subject to an arbitrary, unfair evaluation process by city agencies that effectively pulled the brothers out of the running. (The franchise was finally awarded to a real estate company that had also, the author contends, tried to muscle in on the Galloways’ project.) Galloway follows the cable-franchise battle as it evolves into a lawsuit that revolved around significant issues of free speech rights and antitrust law, eventually leading to a landmark Supreme Court decision. Part true-life noir replete with threatening power brokers and sleazy backroom deal-making, part populist courtroom drama with pointed allegations of judicial bias, Galloway’s memoir is an absorbing insider’s take on the sort of cable TV franchise controversy that has erupted in many cities. His analysis of knotty business and bureaucratic and legal wrangling is both detailed and lucid, and he ties it to a larger critique of black leaders—including ugly portraits of former LA mayor Tom Bradley, celebrity lawyer Johnnie Cochrane and congresswoman Maxine Waters—whom he feels have betrayed their inner-city constituents. Galloway’s account is palpably bitter and one-sided, but it shines a powerful light on high-level malfeasance.

A stinging indictment of urban politics-as-usual.